


Smoke, Wood, and Something Sweet.

by QuietCelt



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, F/M, Flashbacks, Gen, Heartache, Mitabi is a nice guy from a nice family, Pre-Canon, Rico/Ian each think it's one-sided.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-06
Updated: 2017-07-06
Packaged: 2018-11-28 14:38:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11420085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuietCelt/pseuds/QuietCelt
Summary: Scent can trigger memories. Rico cleans Mitabi and Ian's quarters after the Battle of Trost and finds more than she thought she ever would.





	Smoke, Wood, and Something Sweet.

**Author's Note:**

> Ian and Mitabi died violent and horrible deaths. These are mentioned in this work and the warning is just in case. I feel confident most people reading this know Ian and Mitabi are dead in Canon.
> 
> Illustration by Bambz Art

His coat smelled like the tavern he loved. It was like smoke, wood, and something sweet - honey maybe? It was worn at the elbows and cuffs, discolored in a few spots, missing the lowest button…and smelled like that tavern. Ian’s coat smelled like that night.  
\-----  
Mitabi’s family had arrived soon after the battle had ended and it was declared safe. Rico had escorted them to his quarters and had helped them pack up his belonging. The room had the same cluttered and warm quality to it that Mitabi had. Drawings from his nieces and nephews were tacked all over the walls and his bed was covered with a quilt that had been sewn by his grandmother. A care box still filled with biscuits and homemade jam sat on his desk. Rico knew he would share the biscuits with his team.

What they had been able to recover of Mitabi’s remains - what they could scrape off the rough cobblestone - was placed into a simple coffin and loaded onto the back of a cart along with the two boxes of his belongings. Mitabi’s family lived close and just wanted to take their boy home.

Mitabi’s mother had given her a drawing off the wall. It was of Mitabi, herself, and Ian. Mitabi’s youngest nephew had drawn it after his uncle had brought him to visit the Garrison headquarters one hot summer day a year or so ago. It was crude - as any four-year-olds artwork would be - and Rico was so grateful for it. It was a piece of Mitabi - her friend - that she could keep forever. His mother also gave her the jar of jam. And began to send Rico the care packages that were once meant for her beloved son. Rico would visit his family and his grave often.  
\-----  
For Ian, it was harder. He only had his mother left. Ian had been born later in his parents’ lives and his father had passed a few years before. His mother - a tall woman with hair the color of new snow and the same thin face with kind eyes - had not been well these last few months. She had kind neighbors to look after her, but Rico knew Ian had been worried.

To make an elderly woman rise from her sickbed and collect her dead son’s belongings and her dead son’s...his remains would be cruel. Rico would not do that. She would not do that to Ian. She would pack everything up herself. It was what she could do for him. 

Ian’s room was clean and reasonably organized. His bed was made and the papers on his desk were in piles. The room was lived in though. There was a pile of dirty clothing in the corner and few empty bottles of liquor in the wastebasket. Rico reached down and lifted one of them out. How many nights had she and Mitabi come to Ian’s room so he could play barkeep? Some of what Ian created was amazing. Some were just foul. When that happened, Ian would laugh and say he would try and do better next time. Rico set the bottle aside.  
\-----  
Rico moved methodically. Ian’s bedding was all Garrison issue, so it would need to be returned for redistribution. After she stripped the bed, she gathered the stationery and blank forms from the desk drawers. Like the bedding, it would all be returned for redistribution. She went through his papers. Letters from home were packed into the wooden crate provided. His books followed. Ian liked to read - mostly history and military books. There was a large volume of poetry as well. A few rare times - when Ian’s mixtures had been incredibly good and they all had more than a few - they would take turns reading from it. There were a few pictures on his dresser - formal drawings of his mother and father. Rico wrapped them in a newspaper and carefully placed them next to the books.

She moved to the wardrobe, opened it and looked at what had been Ian’s clothing. There were a few uniforms and a few sets of casual clothing. An extra harness hung from a hook on the inside of the door and a worn pair of boots was shoved into the back corner. Rico remembered those. She had finally talked him into getting a new pair instead of getting the old pair repaired for the fifth time. Ian had died wearing the new boots.

She picked out his civilian clothing, folded each piece neatly, and placed them in the crate. Then she moved onto the uniforms. One uniform jacket would be used as a shroud for his remains. Soldiers were normally buried in uniform. The undertakers wanted to show Ian this final respect as best they could. She set the newest Garrison jacket aside so she could bring it to them. The other ones were tossed into the same pile as the bedding.

Rico felt the soft wool of Ian’s old coat and sighed. She pulled it off its hanger and held it away from her - almost as if she feared it. Taking a few short steps backward, she felt the backs of her legs hit Ian’s bed and she sank down onto the mattress. Rico clasped the coat to her chest and dipped her head so she could press her face into the wool. She breathed it in. It smelled like that tavern. Like that night.  
~~~~~  
It was late and Rico was just getting back to her quarters in the officer's wing of the barracks. She had been on call until midnight. Pavel - a newly promoted squad leader with red hair and a chipper disposition - relieved her. She bid him a good night after signing over all the watch records. “Have a good night ma’am,” Pavel said with a smile.

The halls were dim as she made her way towards her rooms. It was silent for the most part. She could hear the occasional soft voice and one room had an occupant with a particularly thunderous snore. Rico pitied their neighbors. She and Mitabi shared a wall - and he snored - but not like that. She made a note of the room number so she could see who it was...and suggest their team leader send them to the medics.

Rico was a little surprised to see Ian standing the in the hallway when she turned the corner. He was wearing that old tan wool coat he had had since training. Ian was not on duty tomorrow, so he and a few others had gone out to a local tavern. It was called The Rabbit and Horse. Rico had been there a few times. She did not particularly care for it. It was a little run down and the counters had a sticky feel to them. The staff was friendly though - and the drinks were pretty cheap.

“Ian?” Rico called softly. Ian turned. He ran a hand through his hair and smiled at her.

“Hello Rico,” he said carefully keeping his voice low.

“Are you drunk?” Rico asked.

“No. Not really,” Ian said with a soft laugh. “Only two drinks.”

“Strong ones?”

“Eh.” He shrugged and leaned against the wall. He looked at the floor before raising his eyes and looking at Rico.

“Are you alright?” she asked.

Ian was silent. The look in his eyes - Rico felt a blush rising up her chest, neck, and onto her cheeks.

Rico took a breath, “Ian...are you okay?”

“You’re lovely,” Ian whispered finally.

“I’m...what?”

“You’re so lovely,” Ian repeated. His voice was still soft and almost sad.

Rico was silent for a moment. Ian thought she was lovely? She felt a thrill rush deep in her chest but shook her head and pursed her lips slightly.

“You’re drunk,” Rico stated - her voice harsher than she had meant it to be. In a gentler tone, she added, “Come on. Let’s get you to bed.” She walked forward and placed a hand on Ian’s arm - intending to guide him into his room after she got the key from him.

“Rico.” Ian murmured her name and pulled her towards him - pressing her against his chest. Rico had only gasped. She did nothing to stop him.

“Rico,” Ian said again - his voice a little more steady. “Rico I….” He stopped. Clutched her to him in a way that bordered on desperation. One hand moved up, calloused tips of his long fingers ghosting over the back of her neck before gently tangling in her silvery hair. The other stayed where it was - holding Rico to him.

Rico shuddered and instinctively pressed her face into the softness of his worn coat. Smoke, wood, and something sweet. She inhaled deeply and balled the pliant fabric in one of her small fists. Rico could hear the thud of Ian’s heart. She let go of his coat and wrapped her arms around his waist. Ian made a sound low in his throat and twisted his fingers deeper into Rico’s hair.

They stood like that in the dim hall. Ian clinging to her and Rico burying her face in the soft wool of his worn coat - breathing in that scent that was Ian. Smoke, wood, and something sweet. Ian tipped Rico’s head back so they were looking at each other. Rico’s eyes were wide and Ian’s were bright. He dipped his head closer to hers until a mere finger width separated them. He leaned down to close the distance and Rico stood on her tiptoes to meet him.

Ian blinked. Stopped. Their lips may have touched...Rico was not sure. He untangled his fingers from her hair and moved both hands to her shoulders. He took a few deep breaths and licked his lips.

“I’m sorry Rico,” Ian said.

“Ian,” Rico started.

He shook his head, “It’s okay Rico. I’m sorry.” His eyes did not leave her face.

“I guess I had more than I thought. Sorry, Rico. I was inappropriate. I had no right. I’m sorry.” He took a step back, removing his hands from Rico’s shoulders.

He gave her one last long look. His jaw moved like he wanted to say something more to her but he dipped his head to hide his face, fished his key out of his pocket, and quickly entered his quarters.

Rico was confused. She was hurt. Without thinking, she raised her fist to knock on the wooden door that now separated her from Ian. The smell of his coat lingered in the hall. On her shirt. She could still feel his fingers in her hair and the softness of his coat on her face.

She did not knock. She stood there for another moment before letting her arm drop, finding her own key, and entering her quarters.  
~~~~~  
Rico sat on Ian’s bed, clutching the jacket to her chest and letting the tears stream down her face. After that night, it had taken a few days for Ian to act comfortable around her. He kept the conversation to polite greetings and military matters.

They had gotten back to normal eventually, though Rico did catch Ian looking at her in the same way he did in the hallway. She would look back. They never got a chance to speak of it. Ian was dead before anything could be said or decided or done.

A sob escaped Rico's throat. She should have taken his hand and led him to her room that night. She should have taken him to her narrow bed and held him in her arms and talked to him and played with his hair and kissed his thin cheeks. Just let him sleep. Made love to him. Something. She should have just been with him. It was too late now. He was gone. She had lost him without ever truly having him to lose.

What else could she do but move forward? There was no choice. What should she have done? What could have been? What difference would it even have made? No difference. Rico was sure of that. Duty. Ian and Mitabi would have stilled hurled themselves into the terrible fray for any chance of making a forward step for humanity and paid with their lives.

Rico buried her face in the coat again. She would keep it. She would hang Mitabi’s drawing on her wall and hang Ian’s coat in her wardrobe. She would keep the jam jar and empty liquor bottle and she would carry on. Do her duty to the Garrison and those within the Walls. Those who Ian had died to protect. Those who Mitabi died to protect. They would have made the same choice over and over. Rico knew that for a fact.

Rico removed her glasses and wiped her eyes. She stood and placed the coat next to the empty bottle on the desk. It took her a while longer to finish up and the sun was setting by the time she was done. 

“I loved you,” Rico murmured to the room as she held the coat and bottle close. Someone else would come for the crate in the morning before she left to bring it all to his mother. “I did love you. I wanted to love you. I’m sorry I did not do a better job. I'm sorry I was too scared to show you. Forgive me.”

For a moment she thought she felt long fingers gently running along the back of her neck and tangling in her hair. The ghost of soft breath inches from her face.

"I'll keep fighting. For you. For Mitabi. I swear Ian - I'll fight."

The room was suddenly filled with the smell of smoke, wood, and sweetness. More than the coat could diffuse. Rico felt a surging hope. It was a hope born of pain and the desire to honor those who had died. To honor her valiant friend and the man she loved. To honor their courage and to honor their lives and what they died for. Hope was needed for that. And Rico would hope with all she had.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for taking the time to read this. Take chances or you may miss something that will change your life.


End file.
